After the End
by Yoru no Angel
Summary: He thought he could run away. Escape from the family who took him in, forget the girl he hated to love, start over after making the biggest, the worst, the best mistake of his life. Unfortunately, the past always catches up with you eventually - once it does, he finds the pain too much to bear and all he wants to do is to end it all.
1. The End

Why am I starting yet another fic someone stop me

I'm really, really hoping this story will be short – 5 chapters at most – so maybe it's not so bad? If you've read my other fic Bittersweet, you may notice some similarities in the characterisation etc since this idea started out as one of its potential endings. I suppose I could even call it a spiritual sequel/AU.

But truthfully, I just wanted to make Chase suffer some more :P

* * *

**After the End**

Out of all the places in his world, Chase felt most alive when he was here, standing in his kitchen.

_His_ kitchen. Some nights, he still found it difficult to believe. It had taken years to get this far, a job as an executive chef in a respectable restaurant. Years of scrubbing plates until his fingers were rubbed raw, of chopping and peeling, the most mind numbing prep work, of having to take orders and resisting the urge to bite back at the criticism and complaints. He remembered the times when he'd complain to his mentor, and the old woman would stare at him with disdain, repeating the words hard work and determination and heart. How his success would be measured on his ability to maintain all three. When he was first promoted, he hated to think that Yolanda was right, but she was. For that, he would forever be grateful.

Sometimes, he missed the Ocarina Inn. It was just a small, family owned establishment in some backwater town, but he'd learnt a lot in the five years he worked there. The restaurant could not be more different. Tucked away on the corner of a busy city street, the doors never stopped swinging with the constant stream of hungry customers looking for a good reasonably priced meal. The décor did overdo it a bit, with the lacquered walls, gaudy red furniture and low hanging lights that created a stuffy atmosphere, but what did Chase care. His place was in the kitchen.

Behind the scenes, Chase relished in the control he had. Unlike at the inn, there was no open counter and no curious customers watching his every move. No need to have to keep up a constant smile, especially when someone screwed up.

Not to say he mistreated his staff, or that his staff were incompetent. But there were standards to uphold and Chase didn't have the time for second rate dishes to be presented to him. Sometimes, the apprentices would protest, try to argue when their plates were rejected once, twice, three times, to which Chase only had one response: "There's the door." The arguing continued, the fires would flare and so would his temper, the unkind words spilling from his lips before he could stop himself. He had lost five apprentices in half as many months.

It gave him a reputation; he'd heard the wait staff whispering about it during their break. A hardass; an asshole; an unfair bastard; just a few of the tamer names he'd been branded. But gossip was gossip and Chase never paid attention to it. In the end, there were only two things that held any importance in his eyes: the quality of his food and the satisfaction of his patrons.

And considering that the restaurant never slowed down, it seemed the customers didn't care about his reputation either. Even the world renowned Gourmet Pierre sang his praises when he passed through the area a few months ago. Chase didn't particularly care for his so called prestigious title, nor had he appreciated it when the purple clad man barged into the kitchen, demanding to meet face to face. The Gourmet was nothing he expected, short, blond and baby-faced, but even so Chase could not deny there was wisdom in the other man's eyes. The gourmet could see the drive and skill within Chase, and it didn't matter that he never attended culinary school or had no degrees to his name. All it took was a glance, and he understood. That he, too, had spent every waking moment trying to achieve perfection.

In reality though, there wasn't much else to Chase's existence. The routine of the restaurant had become the rhythm of his life. Sometimes, he'd tell himself that it would have been too difficult to fight back anyway – he worked twelve hour shifts, often longer, every day, and even in his dreams he was creating and experimenting with new recipes. A workaholic, the waitresses would tease him. Yet, every time he did allow himself to wonder 'what if,' Chase came up blank. He just couldn't imagine living any other way.

When all the tickets had been filled, the stove fires were extinguished, the bench tops were scrubbed down and the plates were packed away for tomorrow; the kitchen closed down for another day. Everyone headed on home, but Chase would always linger that extra moment, just taking it all in.

And then, he would switch off the lights, step out into the night and prepare himself for the walk home.

* * *

Home was located twenty minutes away on foot, an empty, cold apartment on the third floor.

In the dead of the night, Chase headed down the sidewalk, a lone shadow under the street lamps. If not for the scuff of his footsteps breaking the silence, it almost seemed as if the whole world had been muted. He liked it this way, though. In Harmonica Town, he couldn't take two steps without someone stopping him to chat. Some of the nicer waitresses worried for Chase during his walks back in the dark. Call a cab, they'd say, it's too dangerous; occasionally, they'd even offer to drive him. But he'd always wave them off, preferring to take his chances. Nothing had happened to him yet, and nothing ever would.

On the odd occasion when he didn't walk the streets alone, it became a game. Whether it was a businessman coming home after working overtime, or a couple recovering from the aftermath of a party, Chase would meet their gaze straight on. Hold it there, begging them to look him in the eye. Just once, he wished someone would.

Tonight, like many nights, Chase saw no one.

The night air was cooler than usual, a sign that summer was ending. He pulled his jacket closer around his body, increasing his pace.

It didn't take him long to reach his apartment complex. The surrounding buildings easily dwarfed it – there were five storeys in total – and the entrance doors looked like it could be brought down with one well aimed kick, but it was close to the restaurant and affordable enough. He fished his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the unsteady front door and stepped inside.

Chase went to make a beeline for the stairwell, before he reconsidered, and instead took a detour over to the block of mailboxes on the other side of the room. It had been a while since he'd last checked – at least a week – and he found a wad of letters stuffed inside. With his mail in hand, he took the stairs, two at a time, shuffling through it as he went. Bills, junk, more bills – and he was barely home long enough to even use the utilities. The next envelope brought Chase to a sudden stop, mid-step, halfway up the second flight of stairs.

Not a bill, not junk. A personal letter.

He turned it over and over, looking for clues about the sender, but it was nondescript, no return address, and he didn't recognise the handwriting. Who could it be from? A select few knew where he lived now. Yolanda, for one, but she had stopped trying to keep up a friendly facade years ago – the only link that remained between them was a favour and a promise.

Chase massaged the bridge of his nose, finally feeling the effect of the late night catching up on him. Whatever; he'd look at it properly after he got some sleep. He continued on his way.

Apartment 3B, the place he called home. Chase slotted his key in the lock and opened his door. At first, the thought of living in such close proximity with strangers unnerved him – he liked his quiet time, all the time. What he didn't expect was that his neighbours would share the same mentality. In the many years that he'd lived here, his neighbours had said hello once, and that was when he first moved in. They were smart enough to stay away after that.

With a yawn, Chase placed his keys and the mail on the open counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. He peeled off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. His shoes were also kicked to the side for him to find in the morning. He really had to clean up some day – there were clothes, books and magazines strewn over almost every surface – but he didn't have the time. Then again, it didn't matter much. Only the kitchen needed to be kept spotless.

No one else ever visited, after all.

Chase stifled another yawn. It was about time he dragged himself to bed. But just as he stepped in the direction of his bedroom, the thought resurfaced, the curiosity, and he turned back to the counter.

There was the letter. Sitting on top of the pile, waiting for him.

Who sent it? He thought again through the list of people he knew. He'd ruled out Yolanda. His aunt and uncle would phone, not write. It couldn't be Colleen or Jake, and Maya probably had cutesy, bubbly writing that he'd recognise in a second.

It couldn't be… _her_. Could it?

Chase almost laughed at the thought. No way in hell.

Still, his stomach knotted together as he reached for the envelope.

No. She would never. Not after what he did.

He ripped open the seal.

_It's not her. She hates me. It's not her._

A photograph slipped out and fell to the ground, face down. Just like the envelope, there was no telling the identity of the sender; no note, no marks, nothing else to be found inside. He knelt to pick up the picture, turning it over.

It was of a young girl, no older than six, seven years old perhaps, with long auburn hair and large purple eyes. She smiled up at him, one of her front teeth missing, mischief and wonder twinkling on her features.

_It can't be._

Heart thumping in his chest, Chase tore his living room apart searching for his wallet. When he found it – in his jacket pocket, the first place he should've looked – his hands were trembling so much from the adrenaline in his system that he barely managed to prise it open. And there, from the deepest compartment of his wallet, he uncovered his darkest secret.

Another photograph. This one was faded and creased almost beyond recognition, from the times when he'd crushed it in his fist and held his shaking hand over the trash can, telling himself to just let go.

He never could.

There was no mistaking it. It was the same girl in both these photographs. One a snapshot of the past, the other a glimpse of who she had grown into.

But why would someone send this letter to him? Why would someone remind him of the pain he'd tried so hard to avoid all these years? Why now? Why? Why? Why?

Seven years had gone by since he'd last seen her, held her, but he could never stop himself from thinking about her. From loving her.

The biggest, the worst, the best mistake he'd ever made.

His daughter.

* * *

It was too late for dinner, too late for anything, but here Chase was back in the kitchen. How many sleepless nights had he spent concocting and creating dishes, until he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open? (Too many, especially in those first couple of years. For this reason, he always kept the refrigerator well stocked.)

Tonight, he had decided to prepare coq au vin – a chicken dish braised in wine. It wasn't the most complicated recipe ever, but it took a while to cook and would keep him preoccupied long enough to suppress those memories again. He hoped.

_He could still feel her in his arms. The weight of her, sitting in the crook of his elbow, was much too heavy for someone so tiny. Holding her for the first time – any time – terrified him. He was going to drop her. Hurt her. Break her. _

He'd already gone through the process of jointing the chicken and browning the pieces in butter. Then, he'd flambéd them briefly, before adding a whole bottle of red wine to the pot. Now all he had to do was wait for the pot to come to a boil.

Chase took a long pull from his wineglass, then set it back down on the counter. Two open bottles of wine sat beside the chopping board. One for him, one for the dish. Both empty. So much alcohol had made his head ache, but his thoughts grew quieter with every mouthful he drank, so he drank even more.

_He'd never forget how much she squirmed and cried whenever he picked her up. Even at a week old, she was fighting to get away from him. As if she could sense he was no good._

He reached for his knife, letting his fingers wrap firmly around the handle. Onto the potato mash that would accompany the chicken; the potatoes had already been peeled and needed to be quartered. The dull throbbing in his temple pulsed in synchronisation with his heartbeat. It was strange. He'd never really noticed how heavy his chef's knife felt, sitting in his palm. The handle was hollow and filled with sand for the perfect amount of balance, and its blade made from stainless steel. Not the best brand money could buy, but close enough. It was still sharp after so many years of use.

Chop the potatoes, he told himself, repeating it over and over in his mind, a strange mantra.

But he'd lost control of his limbs. The knife moved.

Was poised over his wrist.

_By the third week, he stopped going near her. "She hates me," He told her, when he was asked why, "She knows I'm going to hurt her." But it just made her laugh._

The cold metal touched his skin and he held it there momentarily. Teasingly. A test.

"_You'll never do that." The reassurance came with a smile. Usually, her smiles gave him life. Usually, her gentle yet matter of fact way of speaking eased his woes and worries. Usually, she was right._

He pressed down, sliding it along his wrist. The sharp edge of the blade split the skin in two. He watched the blood bead along the cut, a thin line of red. He felt the wave begin to build inside him, the panic, the terror, the regret – _oh god, what have I done_ – before the darkness whispered to him. It soothed him with words of freedom and escape, all he had ever longed for these past seven years.

So he cut his other wrist as well. Drip, drip, drip, an intricate web of crimson was drawn against his skin.

In all the times he imagined this, he thought there would be more pain. But he felt nothing.

The room had started to spin. Chase reached for his wineglass again; just one last drink. He missed, however, and knocked the glass with his elbow. It tumbled over the edge and fell to the floor, shattering on impact.

Both hands gripped the counter, trying to keep himself upright. When he couldn't any longer, he slumped to his knees, leaning his head against the cupboard doors.

_How wrong she had been._

He closed his eyes and waited for the end.


	2. The Aftermath

Thank you everyone who read, reviewed and alerted the first chapter :) I would really like to hear your opinions on this story. I know I'm dealing with a difficult subject and I hope I'm handling it okay.

I'm thinking of giving myself a short deadline for this story… I mean, it's only going to be five chapters max (okay, maybe six with an epilogue?) so theoretically it shouldn't take too long to write. A month, perhaps… or two. Ah well, we'll see how I go :p

* * *

**After the End**

In all his years as a chef, Chase had never burnt so much as a piece of toast.

Not many others could boast about something like that. Whether it was skill or luck, it was considered to be quite an amazing feat, especially after taking into account how difficult it could be to maintain your cooking flame at just the right temperature. Yolanda had often told him not to let it go to his head – "You'll let your guard down one day," She'd say with a frown – but he'd always dismiss her with a wave of his hand.

That night, he'd forgotten about the coq au vin sitting on the stove.

For so many years, Chase's neighbours ignored him, and truthfully, they were probably better off because of that. It took an over boiling, burning pot and the threat of fire for them to dare to make contact again. The lady next door (who he wouldn't be able to pick out in a crowd of people) was the first to smell the smoke seeping out from the nooks and crannies, and she alerted the superintendent. When they couldn't get a hold of Chase, the superintendent opened the door.

Luckily – unluckily – they did; they found him unconscious, lying in a pool of blood and wine. Unresponsive. Someone rushed to call the ambulance, while the lady next door tried to find something to stem the bleeding. Not that it would help much. No one knew how long he'd been there and they couldn't figure it out – the pot had been on a low simmer so it was most likely hours. The paramedics soon arrived, carted him off to the hospital, but even then no one knew if he would even survive.

Two days later, whether it was by some stroke of luck or a miracle or something else, Chase woke up.

He found himself in a colourless hospital room with an IV stuck in his arm. There had been a nurse hovering over him, but she quickly disappeared to call the doctor. He tried to regain his bearings in the brief moment he had alone, except his mind was too fuzzy, too distracted by the odd tingling sensation in his arms. The door opened once more and the doctor walked in, followed by the nurse. They gave him a quick check up, and after he received the all clear, the questions started.

However, the combination of alcohol, sleep deprivation and blood loss had left Chase with little to no memory of what had happened that night. He'd finished work, he'd walked home, and then... blank. What he did remember of the moments before he lost consciousness was clouded with faces: his apprentices and the wait staff, Yolanda, Maya and her parents, his aunt and uncle. His mother and father.

And then he'd seen _her_, and their purple eyed baby, and the girl she had become. Just like that, it returned, the crushing feelings of regret, guilt, sorrow and anger, all of which threatened to consume and destroy him.

The doctor filled in the rest. Thirty stitches along both forearms. Almost didn't find him in time. Lucky to be alive.

The next thing he knew, Chase had been moved to a different floor. His new room was more or less the same as his old one, with the exception of the missing bed sheets and curtains, the metal grate on the windows and the nurse poking her head in the door every five minutes to make sure he was still breathing.

Observation, they called it.

They gradually weaned him off the pain medication and the strange tingling sensation in his arms turned into a dull ache that never went away. A constant reminder of his failure. Then they gave him new pills, and the feeling of failure – well, it didn't go away – but it faded into a haze of numbness that was almost pleasant.

For the next week, the routine of the hospital became the new rhythm of Chase's life. Breakfast at eight a.m., lunch at twelve, line up for pills as two, pleasant haze until dinner at six thirty p.m. and then wallow in self pity for the rest of the night. There was also the daily therapy session he was required to attend. The shrinks were worse than the doctors, staring at him while he remained silent, scribbling down who knows what on their little notepads. All of them, judging him.

Four sessions went by, each one pushing him further and further over the edge. On the fifth day, it was so bad, the nurses had to personally escort him to his appointment.

The therapist watched as he reluctantly shuffled into the room and took a seat on the gaudy leather sofa opposite her. Then, as usual, she started with the same question: "So, Chase, how do you feel today?"

"Trapped," Chase grunted in reply.

"Why is that?"

"Because I _am_ trapped. Here. I just want to go home."

The therapist nodded, scribbled in her notebook and gave him what he supposed was an understanding look. "And why are you here, Chase?" She asked.

The other times, he'd remained quiet. He should've stayed quiet; it was easier when he did.

But he snapped, "Well, the thing is, I tried to kill myself. But I guess I failed, because I'm still here and I'm being forced to talk to you, instead of rotting in the ground where I belong. So, maybe next time I'll try a more foolproof method."

The therapist didn't appreciate his humour. His stay was extended by a week.

After that, Chase just told them what they wanted to hear. There was so much talk of forging new beginnings, moving on, forgiving himself. Recovering. But to do that, he first had to open up, admit to himself the cause of his problems, confront the consequences, make changes to his life blah, blah, blah.

Chase needed to get out of here. He couldn't stand the bland food. He missed his kitchen, the restaurant, his apartment. How he longed to chop, peel, slice, dice but wasn't allowed to be within sight of a knife. He couldn't even eat his pathetic pudding cup without someone watching him like a hawk.

Aside for the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet, the only other item they allowed him to keep on his person was his wallet. One night, he got so bored that he went through it, discarding old crinkled receipts, meticulously rearranging his cards and picking the lint from the innermost corners. And then, in the deepest compartment of his wallet, he found the secrets he had tried so hard to run from.

Both of the photographs were there, folded in half and tucked away, never to be seen again. Or so he thought.

He was sure he'd thrown them away for good. He remembered holding his hand over trash can, ready to let go – but like always, he'd reconsidered.

Chase balled up his fist, crushing the pictures. He was going to do it this time. Throw away his past. Properly. Do it now. Just do it. Do it. Do it –

He tossed the ball at the wastebasket that sat in the corner of the room. It bounced off the rim and landed on the floor. Another failure.

How exactly was he supposed to move on when he couldn't even let go of a couple of photos?

During one of his more difficult days, he stayed curled up on his sheetless bed, refusing to move or speak to anyone. The on shift nurse continued to check on him; this one was nicer than the others, because instead of poking her head inside and leaving immediately, she stepped into the room to have a proper look. Even tried to make conversation too.

"Isn't it a nice day out?" She said, as she puttered around, "I see you haven't touched your food... of course, I wouldn't either – I always try to bring something to eat from home – but you have to keep your strength up. Oh, by the way, I think the TV is free, if you want to watch something..." Just endless inane chatter.

Chase tried to block her out, wrapping his pillow around his head.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call someone for you? Your parents?" She offered. She was somewhere above him now, leaning over him.

"No parents," He mumbled, "Dead. Both of them."

"No one else?"

She wouldn't go away unless he gave her a name. What name did he have to give? He considered his aunt and uncle, but he'd been a burden to them for over ten years. They deserved better, they always had. Someone from the restaurant? As if – he barely knew his staff's surnames, let alone their phone numbers.

Defeated, he rolled over onto his back, letting the pillow drop to the side. For the first time, he saw the nurse's short brown hair and kind eyes. His heart panged; it reminded him of _her_, of the last place he ever truly felt at home. Back when his life was so close to being perfect, until he went and ruined everything.

Before Chase could stop himself, he said a name from his past.

"…My mentor, Yolanda."

So he passed on the number and allowed the nurse call her one time. Only this one time. Only one moment of weakness. The nurse disappeared outside to use the phone, leaving Chase to wallow in his regret once more. What was he thinking? Yolanda wouldn't care that he was here, not after what he did. Not after he'd left everyone behind without even saying goodbye.

The nurse suddenly appeared in the doorway again. She frantically gestured at him to follow, "She wants to talk to you!"

A wave of panic rose up within him. Chase started to protest. But the nurse would have none of this. Suddenly stern, she marched over to him and took him by the hand, gently pulling him to his feet. She led him outside, over to the nurse's station.

"Here you go," She said cheerfully, as she held out the phone. He wondered if she would still be so sympathetic if she knew the truth.

With a shaking hand, Chase took the receiver from her. Held it to his ear. Waited. It suddenly occurred to him that he should've said something first and he tried to, but failed as the sounds caught in his throat.

Then, he heard something on the other end of the line. A sigh so deep, it left him feeling breathless.

"Come home, Chase," Yolanda said. Three words. And then she hung up.

Anger, disappointment, indifference – he'd expected these things. Wanted them, almost. But to hear so much sadness and pain in the voice of someone he'd respected so much?

It broke him even more.

Even so, the knowledge that Yolanda still cared gave Chase the strength to get through the rest of that afternoon. He made it to the morning, the afternoon, the evening, and then another, and then another; before he knew it, a whole week had passed. Somehow, he'd managed to survive long enough that the doctors and therapists even deemed him well enough to leave the hospital.

But what did he have to go back to? He'd probably lost his job at the restaurant. His apartment was still empty, his kitchen now tainted. Moving would probably be the best option; he could start over, find another restaurant, another kitchen.

Still, there was no escaping the scars on his arms.

A few days later, Chase stood in his now empty hospital room, dressed – in a new long sleeved shirt that concealed his bandaged forearms – and ready to leave. None of the nurses acknowledged him as he slowly trudged through the hallways, all too preoccupied by the new wave of patients and their worried families. It turned into another game – would anyone spare him a second glance before he reached the elevators?

The answer was no.

Chase pushed the 'down' button and waited.

"Excuse me, Mr Baker! Mr Baker, wait!"

He spun around at the sound of his name. The short haired nurse with the kind brown eyes came flying around the corner. She sprinted down the corridor towards him, earning looks of disapproval from the others around her.

When the nurse reached him, she took a moment to catch her breath, before she straightened herself up and gave him a smile. "Thank goodness I caught up with you!" She said, still a little breathless.

"What do you want?" Chase asked bluntly. The game had been lost; she'd arrived too late.

The nurse deflated at his tone. "I, um… I have something for you," She replied, suddenly seeming nervous as she dug into the pocket of her frilly apron.

He knew what it was before he even saw it.

The nurse held out two photographs. She had taken care to straighten out every little crease and fold, even taping together the ripped corners. "I found these the other day. Next to the wastebasket. It looked like you tried to throw them away but…"

Try as he may, he never could.

Chase averted his eyes, "Thanks, but I don't want them."

Again, the nurse ignored him. She took his hand and pressed the pictures into the middle of his palm, closing his shaking fingers around it.

He didn't resist. Didn't let go.

"This little girl… she's your–?"

"Daughter," He said hoarsely.

The nurse gave him a soft smile, "She's got your eyes."

With the photographs tucked safely inside his wallet, Chase exited the hospital and never looked back.

* * *

It was a half an hour cab ride back to his apartment.

To pass the time, Chase stared out the window, watching the world go by, until finally the taxi pulled up to his apartment building.

He paid and got out, pausing just a moment to stare up at the building. It looked so different in the daytime. When was the last time he'd even been home this early? By this time, he'd usually be at work prepping for the upcoming lunch service. He climbed the stairs to the entrance, once again surprised to find it open, and without stopping to check his mail, made his way over to the stairwell.

Chase slowly ascended the steps, one by one. There were people milling about in the hallways, some passing him by as he went. He felt their eyes on him, though none stopped to ask how he was – well, considering he was alive that much was obvious.

Finally, after what felt like an excruciating eternity, he reached the third floor.

Two weeks, that was how long he'd been in hospital. Two weeks since he'd last been home. Chase retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked his apartment door. Turned the handle. Opened the door.

The metallic scent of decay hit him almost immediately. He clamped a hand over his mouth as he felt his stomach churn. Images flashed through his mind: the photographs, the blade pressed to his skin, the blood trickling down his arm, the wineglass shattering and the darkness.

Chase forced himself to breathe through it. He stepped past the threshold.

If anything had been touched or taken during the turmoil of that night, he couldn't tell. The living room looked the same, although it seemed to stretch on for miles as he stiffly made his way over to the kitchen. The closer he got, the more overwhelming the smell became, but he didn't allow himself to stop. He needed to see it. At least then, he would know for sure that these last two weeks weren't some horrible figment of his imagination.

He reached the counter that split the living room in two, and circled around it, one step, two steps, three, four, five steps, until he was standing in the middle of it all.

For the first time in his life, being here, in his kitchen, sickened him. The remnants of the shattered wineglass crunched under his sandals. The once pristine white floor tiles were splattered crimson with a mixture of dried red wine and blood – _his _blood. And in the center of the sea of red was a void. Where he had laid waiting for the end.

Wasn't it cruel, leaving the victim to clean up his own death?

No, because he only had himself to blame.

So Chase fetched the mop and a bucket of water and spent the next hour trying to scrub the blood from the tiles. Someone had been courteous enough to throw away the pot of chicken, at least.

When he was done, he stepped back and gazed down at the now clean floor. Just like new. Just like nothing had happened.

But the memory still suffocated the air.

This place wasn't home. It never had been.

"_Come home, Chase."_

He couldn't stay here any more.

* * *

The trip was longer than Chase remembered.

Perhaps that was just his inner city rat talking; it had been years since he'd even stepped foot in the suburbs. Anything that wasn't in walking distance seemed too far away at this point.

After watching the city recede into the distance through a train window, he had to endure a car ride down a bumpy road, before switching to an even bumpier horse and cart. That was another thing about Castanet, the way time seemed to freeze everything in place, move backwards even. He could picture it now: everything would be the same as it had been seven years ago – but only on the surface, he reminded himself.

Though he didn't believe in fate, or luck, or anything else, whoever had sent the letter had done so for a reason. Now that he was still alive and kicking, he may as well find out what that reason was. (Nothing could be said for exactly _what_ he'd do once he did).

The horse drawn cart travelled over the uneven dirt roads, the rhythm of its hooves a hypnotic sound. As the hours ticked by, the sky changed from clear blue to the reddish hues of the afternoon. In the city, he'd been so acquainted with the nighttime, he'd almost forgotten how many different faces the sun had. The scenery, too, unnerved him now. The open, grassy plains made him miss the clutter of the city – surprisingly – although it was just as easy to get lost out here as it was on a street in the dark.

For so long, the land was vast nothingness, until Chase spotted a familiar sign. He craned his neck, gazing ahead.

Harmonica Town was outlined on the horizon.

It was time to stop running.


	3. The Return

Haha, so much for getting this story finished in a few months. Um, so I really don't have a lot of time to write these days but I neglected my assignments to finish this chapter (and I'm sure that will come back to bite me in the ass soon enough!).

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I hope you like it!

* * *

**After the End**

Chase stood at the outskirts of Castanet, his suitcase by his side, staring down the long road that marked the way to Harmonica Town. The horse-drawn cart that had brought him here was long gone, almost an hour ago, but he had yet to take a step beyond the entrance.

This was where his past, present and future collided. He could feel them lingering around him, watching him, the ghosts of his memories. They whispered words of challenge into his ears. Will you face us or will you continue to run?

What choice did he have? He was never much of an athlete, after all.

Chase picked up his suitcase and met the eyes of the first ghost.

It was his eighteen year old self – the age he had been the day he first arrived in Harmonica Town.

Ever since he could remember, cooking had been an integral part of his life. He'd grown up with dreams of working in a kitchen and it didn't matter where, as long as he could make people happy with his food. With very few jobs on offer in the city however, he had no choice but to look for work further out, and Castanet was the furthest he'd ever travelled alone.

The advertisement that brought him here had called for an assistant chef, some experience needed. Having just graduated high school, Chase had none – culinary school proved too expensive and bussing tables just didn't count. But Yolanda had interviewed him seriously, had given him the chance to show her his skills and prepare his best dish – which, at the time, was vegetable ratatouille. In the end, his inexperience was too obvious and Yolanda had brutally shot him down, though not before she offered him an apprenticeship.

Whether it had been out of pity or if she'd truly seen potential in him, he still didn't know.

The second ghost accosted him at the end of the main road, where it forked into two paths – straight ahead led to town, the right to a farm he knew all too well. This ghost was only a few years older than the first, his twenty year old self. Like the road, his memories of that time were divided into two categories: before and after.

Before. Those were the years he'd spent working at the Ocarina Inn, chopping, slicing, dicing under Yolanda's supervision. It hadn't been easy, not at all. Between his shifts at the inn and the hours he dedicated to practicing his skills, he barely slept. His days were unchanging, routine, but he was more content than he'd ever been.

And then there was after – everything that had happened following the moment he'd first met _her._

There was nothing to note about their first meeting; it would never be the plot of a romance movie, nor was it the type of story to make people laugh or cry. She had been the new farmer girl, who one day came by the Ocarina Inn to introduce herself. He'd said hello, she smiled and ordered a cup of tea. He'd made it, she drank it and left without even attempting to make small talk. That was it.

But even so, that one little insignificant moment changed his life for the better – and the worse.

There was a plea in the ghost's ethereal eyes. Take the right path, it said. Retrieve the part of your heart that you left behind seven years ago. Chase fought hard to ignore it. What do you expect me to do? He asked in return. Walk up to her house and knock at the door? Pretend like nothing ever happened, like I never walked out on her or our daughter?

Still, his pulse began to race, the butterflies stirred in his stomach. He hadn't been this close to her in seven long, painful years. Not a day had gone by where the thought of her didn't pass through his mind; just standing here resurfaced a lifetime of memories and it almost felt as if she stood right beside him once more.

In the end, it was the ghost who won.

Chase took a step forward and, without a second thought, took more and more. It had been seven years since he last walked this road, but the look, the feel, every little detail was still ingrained in his heart. Nerves caused his hands to shake, no matter how tight he held the handle of his suitcase. The stiches along his arms started to ache. Panic soon won over, bringing with it the urge to turn back, to run away again.

But this was the whole reason he came back, wasn't it?

Her house came into view and he froze. It looked just as he remembered it – the farmhouse was still a little rundown, but cosy; green grass filled the nearby field and red, blue, yellow flowers grew tall all around, their sweet scent carried over on the wind.

He imagined what had happened in that house throughout the years. Their daughter's first smile, first words, first steps. Everything he'd missed because he was a coward.

He couldn't do it.

Chase turned away to leave.

And that was when the final ghost appeared.

They stood toe to toe, the ghost so close that they were almost touching. But the ghost had his head angled downwards at his feet. He wouldn't face him. Couldn't face him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Nor was Chase ready to face this ghost.

So he stepped to the side and headed back the way he came.

* * *

Upon passing through the town entrance, Chase immediately realised he was wrong.

Harmonica Town had changed.

Mostly on the surface – the buildings he remembered had undergone renovations; some had been given a fresh coat of paint, while others had had extensions built onto them. Amongst the familiar was the unfamiliar: new stores and businesses, new streets teeming with unrecognisable faces. The town had grown in ways he never thought possible and now he was the stranger.

At the least, Chase still knew the way to the Ocarina Inn. He weaved his way down the street, avoiding the crowds and over-friendly store owners calling out greetings.

The ghost trailed after him. He had been following him ever since, but he had yet to lift his gaze. Whatever. Chase had little patience for these ghosts. The toil of travelling had finally caught up to him and all he wanted to do was find a room with a bed to hide away in for a few hours.

The Ocarina Inn finally appeared at the end of the street and Chase experienced another overwhelming attack of bittersweet nostalgia. Of all the buildings, it had changed the least – on the outside. Who knew what waited for him beyond the entrance.

He walked up to the rustic wooden doors, reaching for the door handle. And hesitated.

He was being silly. No matter how angry Yolanda and her family were, he knew they'd welcome him back with open arms. That was their downfall, it always had been. They were quick to take pity on him, forgave too easily, were perfect for him to take advantage of.

Steeling his nerves one last time, Chase pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

Immediately, every inquisitive eye turned his way. The strangers lost interest almost instantly, but those who knew him – the doctor and his wife, the tailor sisters, the mayor's son – stopped and stared.

Chase braced himself for the questions, the accusations.

But none came; they too soon glanced the other way, focusing once again on their meals.

Still, their unspoken questions suffocated the air. How much had they heard? If the locals were still the same, the news of his situation would've spread through the town like wildfire. They wanted to ask, he could tell. But they didn't know how to approach him. Perhaps they were scared even. To think, this is how he always wanted to be treated.

_Just ask me. Please. Somebody. Anybody._

"Welcome to the Ocarina Inn, how may I – oh my gosh, Chase!?"

He almost jumped. He hadn't heard anyone approaching.

A blonde woman was staring at him, her mouth agape and the plate in her hands slipping out of her grasp. "Is that really you?" She exclaimed.

Chase blinked away the haze of his thoughts.

"…Maya."

The first thing he noticed was that she looked older – _of course she's older, I've been gone for seven years_. She'd lost the pigtails and bows, and the frills were gone too. But her hair was still the same length, just below her chin, and her blue eyes still held the same clarity and cheer – which seemed to be masking something sad?

His observations ended there. Maya turned on heel, promptly dropping off the dishes at their designated tables before rushing back to the kitchen. All the while, Chase remained at the front entrance, stunned to the spot. Moments later, Maya was weaving her way back to him, and not too far behind her was Yolanda.

"Chase, you're back…" The older woman whispered the moment she was close enough. Despite having more lines on her face, Yolanda hadn't changed much over the years either. The whole inn had a different feel, however – solemn, quieter – but perhaps that was caused by his presence.

They didn't throw him out straight away. That had to be a good sign.

Before he knew it, Chase was whisked across the dining room to one of the unoccupied seats near the back. He found himself sitting across from Yolanda and Maya and now Colleen too, all three of them watching him as if they still could not believe he sat there. Behind them the ghost hovered over their shoulders, as always silent but ominous.

Chase couldn't bring himself to meet their gazes. He knotted his fingers together in his lap, staring intently down at the wood grain on the table.

"Would you like some tea? Cake?" Yolanda offered.

Wordlessly, Chase shook his head. Maya and her grandmother traded glances; she got up and headed back to the kitchen. When Maya returned, she had brought with her a teapot and a selection of cakes balanced on a tray. She deftly poured four cups of tea and set the cakes in the middle of the table.

Chase wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. An action he regretted – the movement tugged his sleeve and revealed the white bandages on his forearms. His hands were retracted, hidden beneath the table once more but it didn't go unnoticed. He knew by the look in his mentor's eyes.

"We're so glad you're home," Colleen said. Her voice wavered slightly. "We've missed you."

He made the mistake of looking up and he became trapped by their tearful, furious, concerned gazes. How could they do this? How could they still be so kind after everything that happened?

Yolanda spoke next, "How… have you been?" She asked carefully.

A shrug. The real question was etched into her expression and he dared her to ask it.

"_Where_ have you been?" Maya interjected instead. Her grandmother shot her a scathing stare.

"Nowhere interesting. It's funny, you know, how this place hasn't changed a bit," Chase found himself saying. Two could play at this game; if they wanted ignorance, then so be it.

He pretended to look around, feigning interest in his surroundings, as if his every move and word weren't being scrutinised. It was too easy to slip back into the nonchalant façade he spent years wearing. "But where's Jake?"

A cold silence fell over the table at the question, the opposite effect that he intended.

Colleen tried to smile but it faltered. "I'm sorry, Chase, I just remembered there's something important that I need to do. Please excuse me." He watched in confusion as she stood and hurried off in the direction of the back office.

Maya fixed him with an accusatory glare, "My dad's gone, Chase."

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant but then he realised. "W… When?"

"Two years ago," Yolanda answered quietly, "A heart attack."

He would've known if he'd bothered to read the letters Yolanda sent.

Chase's eyebrows knitted into a contrite frown as he fiddled with his sleeve. The rough bandage underneath scratched his fingertips.

"Are you staying?" Maya asked suddenly.

Chase swallowed to loosen his throat, "…For a little while."

She stood up, her eyes focused on everything but him, "I'll go prepare your room."

"T-Thanks."

Maya headed to the front desk, where she looked over the registry book for a free room. Something forceful had replaced some of the cheer in her eyes. The way she flipped through the pages with such practicality was a far cry from the young girl Chase remembered flittering from table to table, gossiping with the locals.

And now, only Yolanda and the ghost remained. At least his ability to repel people with a single sentence hadn't changed.

The old woman was watching him, her expression neutral, although her shoulders sagged, as if her sadness was physically weighing her down.

"I'm… I'm sorry about Jake," He said in a small voice.

Yolanda sighed into her cup, "A parent should never have to outlive their child, Chase."

He felt a stab of petulance at that; he didn't mean it, but it slipped out anyway: "Good thing my parents died when I was six."

"And Rosemary almost lost her father at seven."

Chase flinched at the name. An herb and a flower – was there no name more fitting for the daughter of a farmer and a chef? He heard it every day in the kitchen, an innocent ingredient transformed into one more blade of torture digging itself into his mind.

"You can't lose something you never had," He muttered.

Another sigh, this one even wearier and more defeated than ever.

"I'm going to ask you one more question and I'd like it if you told me the truth," Yolanda said. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting, dreading, longing for ever since he'd been released from hospital.

"Why did you come back to Harmonica Town, Chase?"

His heart sank. "You told me to."

Yolanda cocked her eyebrow, "Since when did you decide to start listening to me?

Chase managed lopsided smile in response, "You're right. I came here to find out who sent me this." He took his wallet out of his pocket and extracted the photo, pushing it across the table. Yolanda reached out and examined it with a gentle frown. "It wasn't you, was it?"

"No…" The older woman set the photograph back down. "Is this really the only reason why you came back?"

"What do you want me to say, Yolanda?" Chase said bitterly, "That I want to make amends, that I came to beg for forgiveness? That's not true. I'm not that good of a person, and Holly –"

Both Chase and the ghost involuntarily shuddered.

The first time he'd said her name aloud in so many years.

_Holly would never forgive me._

The rest of the words died on his tongue. Chase retreated back into himself, playing with the bandage on his wrist.

Yolanda seemed to sense this was as far as the discussion was going today. She drained the rest of her tea and slowly rose to her feet. Her shuffled footsteps moved around the table, until she came to a stop beside him.

A hand reached out and rested on his upper arm. It trembled, gripping tightly around his shoulder.

"I buried one son, Chase. Don't let me bury another."

* * *

"Your room's ready now, if you want."

Chase glance up. Maya was standing at the doorway, her blue eyes carrying even more questions and concerns than before. Just how much did she know anyway?

After Yolanda had left, he had to get away from the prying eyes, from the inn, from the ghost who wouldn't leave him alone. But where did he have to go? In this town, no matter how many new buildings and townspeople it had acquired, he would still find people he knew around every corner. So he had resigned himself to sitting outside the Ocarina Inn on the raised brick garden bed, where he was at least getting some fresh air.

There was no escaping the ghost, however. He loomed nearby, not saying a word.

Nor was there any escaping from Maya. With a shake of her head, she closed the inn doors behind her and joined him on the brick barrier. They sat together, yet with the silence suffocating the air around them, they may as well have been sitting miles apart. If it had been seven years ago, Maya would be chatting his ear off about so-and-so doing something or other that he just didn't care about, giggling unabashed and ignoring his not-so-subtle hints of annoyance.

He knew how to handle the young waitress in the puffy pink dress and pigtails. This woman, however…

Unable to stand it any longer, Chase dared to speak first, "Actually… I think I'm going to walk around for a bit. See how things have changed around here."

"It'll be a short walk. Nothing's really changed," She said dismissively. Then, she seemed to hesitate before she continued on in a much softer tone, "Don't do this to yourself, Chase."

He should've pretended he had no idea what she was talking about.

But pretending didn't work anymore.

"…I have to see her."

"Then don't do this to _them._ It's been way too long."

"You don't understand Maya," He said thickly, "I… I need to see her. That's why I came back here… that's why I…"

Unconsciously, Chase touched his wrist, pushing back his sleeve to rub the bandage. Maya's eyes followed the movement and her forehead creased into a deep frown. He had his answer.

"After you… after what happened, she waited for you, y'know," Maya revealed, "For a long time. She always believed you would come back… I think a part of her still does – and I guess she was right in the end."

A spark of hope ignited within him, unbidden. Just like the family who owned the Ocarina Inn, Holly's downfall was her too trusting nature. Maybe she could forgive him after all?

"But she's happy now. She's engaged."

The hope instantly fizzled, and despair surfaced in its place. "Oh," He forced out, "Of course."

Of course, she moved on. Of course, she found someone else. Someone better. Someone who could be a doting boyfriend, caring husband, a loving father. Someone who wouldn't run away.

"He's a good guy. He's always treated Rosie as if she were his own daughter."

Chase felt his eyes begin to sting. He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands but the tears did not fall. Couldn't fall.

"W-What am I supposed to do, Maya?" He asked helplessly.

She let his question hang in the air.

"I don't know," She finally said with a sigh, "That's for you to decide."

Maya soon retreated back to the inn, leaving him alone with his agony once more.

What _was_ he supposed to do? What he wanted to do, what he needed to do, it all mixed around in his head, making it ache. His wants, his needs - they were all irrelevant; he'd known that all along. It really all came down to one question: what would be best for Holly and their daughter?

If they were happy, as Maya had said, maybe he should just stay away.

Maybe he should just disappear.

He stood up.

He walked.

Where he was headed, he didn't care, but his legs carried him away from the inn, through the streets, passed the town entrance, into the fields that surrounded Harmonica Town. He found himself following a familiar dirt path – not the same one that led to her farm – which took him towards the mining district. The mining district would do; it wasn't a place he often frequented when he lived in Castanet, the people there barely knew him.

_And I can throw myself off the mountain if I really want to._

All the while, the ghost continued to follow along silently. Since leaving the Ocarina Inn, Chase's irritation had grown tenfold. Frustration and anger built up inside him and he had no one to take it out on.

Except for the ghost.

In front of the bridge that connected Harmonica Town to the mining district, Chase stopped in his tracks and whisked around. Face to face with his spirit self, he clenched his hands into fists, wanting, needing, to hit something, anything.

"What do you want from me?" Chase yelled. "I came back, didn't I? I'm still here, aren't I?"

Only his echoed voice, mingled in with the wind and the distant sound of giggling, replied.

Chase sunk to his knees, ran his hands through his hair. It took everything in him to resist tearing the handfuls from his head.

_I've lost it. There's no going back. I should just throw myself off the mountain and end it properly. _

_End it now. _

_End it forever._

The giggling was growing closer. So young, carefree, the laughter of children.

The ghost suddenly jerked in response. Out of the corner of his eye, Chase saw the ghost nod, ever so slightly, towards the Garmon Mine District. And then, he started walking to the bridge, leaving him behind.

Chase slowly pushed himself to his feet.

He understood.

It was his turn to do the following.

The waning sunlight of the afternoon cast a warm glow over the mining district. The faint outline of the moon was already visible in the sky, like a beacon guiding him forward.

There were two children, a boy and a girl, playing outside the blacksmith store. A giggling teenager with a high ponytail watched over them – Chase recognised her as the little girl who sometimes had come to the inn for ice cream, Chloe or something.

The boy had dark auburn hair and the green eyes of the waitress from the Brass Bar – Owen and Kathy's son. He chased the girl down the street, a never ending game of tag. Her long hair whipped around her face but it didn't seem to hamper her skills. She managed to dodge the boy at every turn.

"Stay where I can see you, you two!" Chloe called out.

A few feet away, the ghost lingered, watching the children play. Chase came to a stop beside him. Wordlessly, the ghost lifted his head and their eyes met for the first time.

Chase saw ethereal tears streaking down his own cheeks.

Twenty-three years old, six months after the birth of their daughter. He couldn't take it anymore, couldn't risk it, so he escaped. With nothing but the clothes on his back, Chase ran away. At midnight, walking the long way to the next town. It had taken him all night, and by the time he got there every nerve in his body was so numb he could barely stand up straight.

And for seven years, he regretted it. For seven years, he tortured himself with the same question: did I make the right decision? Even if it wasn't, he couldn't go back. He could only love them from a distance, sending money where he could but never daring to risk any other kind of contact.

Only one thought had reassured him. If he was gone, he would never, ever be able to hurt her.

"Hey, look Romy, it's your dad!" The boy called out.

The little girl slowed down and followed her friend's gaze. She looked straight at Chase. Instantly, her purple eyes lit up, shining brightly with the love and adoration only a child could feel for their parent.

Chase's heart jumped. Did she know? But how could she. The last and only time they were father and daughter, she was just a baby, barely six months old and unaware of anything around her.

The little girl ran towards him.

Straight past him.

Into the arms of a stranger in a cowboy hat.


	4. The Decision

Yay, uni is over for another year. Now my problem is finding my writing motivation haha.

But I did manage to finish this chapter, and hopefully I'll have another one done very soon.

Enjoy :)

* * *

**After the End**

"Daddy!"

Chase's breath froze in his chest and for a moment he was in heaven.

His daughter had called out to him before, in his dreams, so many times. Even though he'd never heard her voice, he knew it. Somehow, despite the years and distance between them, the sound had always been in his heart.

But then, he exhaled, and reality quickly came crashing down around him once more.

The little girl bounded straight to the man in the cowboy hat, falling into his open arms. The man in the cowboy hat lifted her high above him, swept her around in a wide arched spin; it made her giggle with excitement, a sweet sound that filled the air and drove the stake deeper into Chase's heart.

That could've been him. That _should've_ been him.

And it was this state of yearning that pained him most. How much of his life had been spent longing for what he couldn't have? It began with the loss of his parents at six years old, and continued on throughout his life until this very moment. Standing here at thirty, wishing he could've been strong enough to stay and be the father that little girl deserved.

_Who are you kidding? _

_You brought this on yourself._

The tears stung at his eyes. Chase had to bite at his lip to keep himself from letting them fall, or worse, reaching out to this little girl who didn't know him. He bit so hard it drew blood.

Supported by his strong arms, Rosemary settled against the man she called her father, her cheek pressed close to his. "Did you have a good day with Roy today?" The man asked her.

"Uh huh! Aunty Kathy took us horseback riding, and then we went exploring in the forest. After that, Chloe took us to the mine – just the entrance, but. Roy found a crystal and it was this –" Rosemary stretched her arms out either side of her, "big!"

"Wow, it sounds like you had a lot of fun."

The little girl nodded happily. She wrapped her arms around the man's neck in a tight hug, suddenly seeming coy, "Daddyyy, can I stay at Roy's house tonight?"

The man chuckled, "Not today, sweetie, but maybe on the weekend."

Rosemary pouted, "Why not?"

"Because it'll be dinner time soon and Mama is waiting for us to come home," The man explained patiently, "She even made your favourite strawberry shortcake for dessert!"

That Chase had taught her to make. In the kitchen he cooked her breakfast, lunch and dinners in every day, in the house they renovated and decorated together, in the home they argued in, made up in, loved in. In what used to be his life.

By now, the taste of blood had spread around his mouth. All he had to do was avert his eyes. Walk away. Spare himself the pain of watching his daughter being held by this stranger.

Chase couldn't help watching, though. The photograph in his wallet had only managed to capture a fraction of Rosemary's boundless spirit. It radiated all around her, in her bright purple eyes and toothy smile, through the way she couldn't stop fidgeting on the spot as if she were dancing to a song only she could hear. Even her long peachy auburn hair seemed uncontrollable, sticking out in every which direction.

Unbidden, the memory of the day Rosemary was born surfaced in his mind. Holly hadn't been well enough to hold their daughter, so Doctor Jin had placed her in Chase's arms instead. He was the first person in the world to ever touch her, and the terror he felt at that moment was still so real to him today.

But so was the love. It had been so overwhelming, it had brought tears to his eyes. Cradling this tiny person with his eyes and Holly's face made his heart swell so much that his chest strained under the weight of it all.

Even if Rosemary didn't know him, even if she never knew him, nothing would change.

She would always be the most beautiful little girl in the world. _His_ little girl.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Chase heard his daughter ask.

For a second time, his heart shuddered, before he remembered: _it's not me_. And then, he suddenly realised that he wasn't the only one doing the observing – the man in the cowboy hat was staring at him with a pinched expression loaded with questions and something more – fear?

"Nothing, sweetie," He murmured.

Rosemary followed his gaze and her purple eyes met with Chase's, "Who's that man? Is he your friend?"

The other man put her down on the ground, "Say Rosie, why don't you go and play with Roy for a little while longer?"

"But what about dinner–?"

"It's okay," He said. He placed a gentle hand on her head, "Go on, I just need to do something first. I'll be quick."

Rosemary looked up at the man she called her father, her delicate features scrunched in uncertainty. But it didn't take long for her to shrug it off; she turned on heel and ran back across towards the blacksmith store, where the auburn haired boy was still playing outside with Chloe. All it took was a tap on his shoulder and their game of tag resumed, as if it had never been interrupted in the first place. Chase's heart ached when she disappeared from sight around the bend.

The man in the cowboy hat began to cross the clearing. It would've been so easy to slip away and avoid whatever was coming, but Chase stood his ground – was rooted to the ground, more like it.

With a few feet separating them, the other man came to a stop. Chase involuntarily took a step backwards.

"You're… Chase, aren't you?" The man said.

So this was who Holly had chosen. Up close, Chase saw that they couldn't be any more different physically. While they were both equally good looking and fair haired, Calvin was muscular and tanned, rugged in the way the lead actor in an action movie would be – and he even dressed the part, with a cowboy hat, a khaki shirt and slacks. He had to stop himself from wondering any more about the man.

When Chase gave no reply, the other man continued on regardless. "My name is Calvin. I'm Holly's… fiancé," The word was added tentatively. Calvin went to offer a hand, but reconsidered it, folding his arms across his chest. "We heard you might be coming back… but we didn't think it would be so soon."

Chase felt himself frown. Of course, Yolanda or Maya or someone else had warned them of his return. How much they were told though, that was a different question.

Did he want to know the answer? Not just yet. Everything was moving so fast; he never imagined getting the chance to see his daughter again on the first day of his return, nor did he think he would be standing face to face with Holly's new lover.

With hours of travelling behind him, Chase was overcome with exhaustion. If only he could return to the Ocarina Inn. Lay down, close his eyes, rest.

"I'm not here to cause any trouble," He said wearily.

Calvin's stare hardened, "Then why are you here?"

The other man's words were laced with barely concealed contempt. The tone awoke a flare of indignation within Chase that spread through his whole body, replacing his exhaustion with anger, releasing the latch on his thoughts. He had to grit his teeth to stop himself from lashing out.

Just who was this guy?

Exactly how long had Holly waited, before she'd moved on? How long had they been raising his daughter together? For how long had Rosemary been calling him 'daddy'? Did she even know he wasn't her real father?

There were so many questions twisting around his head, it made him want to scream.

_You're living my life. Give it back. Give me back my life!_

But Chase swallowed the urge, and every other emotion fighting to unleash itself upon the world.

He'd been avoiding the gazes of the people he knew ever since he arrived in Harmonica Town – he couldn't allow himself be judged by this stranger.

This was between him and Holly.

"To be honest with you, I'm not quite sure," Chase said, returning the stare with an equal amount of disdain, "But I do know it's none of your business."

In the end, however, Chase still lost. Unable to bring himself to hear Calvin's retort, he turned on heel and strode back towards the bridge that marked the way out of the Garmon Mine district. He didn't look back, either, no matter how much his heart ached to catch another glimpse of Rosemary.

And it was only when he was on the outskirts of the district that he realised how much his hands were shaking.

* * *

Somewhere in the early hours of the next morning, Chase sat on his bed in the Ocarina Inn, having given up on the idea of sleep hours ago. Although his body felt on the verge of collapse, his mind continued to race through the events of the previous day. So much had happened, and looking back, it all seemed so surreal.

Reuniting with Yolanda, Maya and Colleen worsened the guilt and remorse than threatened to consume him. Meeting with Calvin awoke even more anger and despair. But seeing his daughter again for the first time since she was baby did something else to him entirely.

It gave him a reason to stay alive.

He may not have a good chance at reconciling with Holly, she probably wouldn't even let him speak to Rosemary – he certainly wouldn't, if he were her – yet still he _had_ the chance_._ If he didn't take it, he would hate himself more than he did for leaving in the first place.

Antagonising Holly's fiancé was a big mistake to make, however. No matter how much he disliked the guy – which was unfair, he knew – Calvin played a part in this too. Holly wouldn't have let Rosemary believe he was her father if they weren't serious about each other. And from what little he'd seen of her, Rosemary seemed to be a happy, well-adjusted kid, so he had to be a good guy. When it came down to it, Holly would probably side with the man who supported her and raised another man's child as his own. Not the one who abandoned his young family and caused her nothing but heartache and grief.

By the time dawn arrived and the early morning sunlight was beginning to stream through the gaps in the curtains, Chase had figured out his next line of action. He'd lay low here at the Ocarina Inn until everyone readjusted to his presence once again, and maybe then he'd make contact with Holly. Nothing major; he wouldn't dare make any demands of her. But if she responded to him, that just might lead to something more later on.

The unexpected resurgence of hope and the sleep deprivation made Chase's heart beat faster, and he forced himself to breathe through it. He was getting ahead of himself.

One step at a time, one day at a time – the thought lulled him into a strange kind of dozing sleep. To think, one of the ridiculous affirmations from his therapy sessions had managed to soothe him this much.

Chase awoke some hours later to the sound of the Ocarina Inn coming to life. He glanced at the clock – nine a.m. Which meant he'd gotten about three hours sleep – enough to let him function. He took a quick shower, changed the bandages on his forearms and got dressed, before heading downstairs. The routine felt so familiar to him, it eased his fear of facing the new day.

He was surprised to see Maya at the front desk so early, flipping through the registry books with a crease between her eyebrows. And when she glanced up from her work, she seemed equally shocked to see him standing across the way – she blinked once, twice, then finally seemed to remember that he wasn't some kind of apparition.

Maya offered him a tight smile. Chase attempted to return the gesture, but it went unnoticed, her attention back on the book in front of her. Such nonchalance threw him off, especially after the talk they had yesterday afternoon.

After everything that had happened, it was so easy to forget that Maya, Yolanda, Colleen, everyone in Harmonica Town had their own lives. The world would always move on, whether he was prepared or not.

The sound of a sizzling frying pan reached his ears, and Chase found himself moving automatically. A new sense of unease flooded through his body as he grew nearer to the kitchen – the pool of blood at his feet and the smell of death in the air were still so vivid in his mind.

Once he stepped inside however, his worries were washed away by a wave of nostalgic joy. At the sound of his footsteps, Yolanda glanced over her shoulder and though she tried to keep her expression neutral, there was warmth in her eyes.

"Good morning, Chase," The old woman greeted briskly. Her gaze swept over him, from toe to head, before returning focus to the ingredients on the counter, "You look awful."

"Couldn't sleep." Haven't been able to sleep since the hospital – but he kept that detail to himself.

Chase hung back, taking a moment to watch as his mentor moved about the kitchen preparing breakfast. Ingredients were laid out along the table, eggs, milk, a bundle of herbs, raw bacon, a block of cheese and a bowl of pancake batter. Even at her age, her hands were deft and quick, cracking eggs with ease while effortlessly flipping the pancakes that were cooking on the stove. His fingers itched to join in.

"Smells good," He said instead. Even though he could barely stomach food nowadays, his insides betrayed him, growling hungrily for a taste of his mentor's cooking.

Yolanda gave him a knowing look. "Would you like to join us?"

Chase sheepishly lowered his head, "…Only if I can do something to help?"

"Well, you can grate the cheese, and the herbs need to be chopped as well. Although…" The older woman's eyes darted warily to the knife on the countertop. "Is that a good idea?"

"It's been two weeks since I cooked something. Trust me when I say it's done me more harm than good."

Yolanda continued to hesitate, her eyebrows knitting into a frown.

He couldn't keep the tremble out of his voice, "Please."

She sighed. "Well, I can't refuse the help of a Gourmet approved chef, can I?"

"How do you know about that?" He asked, surprised.

"I am a subscriber of 'The Gourmet's Delight', Chase," Yolanda said, "I have read every article about the up-and-coming superstar chef in the city who prepared the best ratatouille Pierre ever tasted."

Chase felt the back of his neck turn red, "Yeah, well… I had a good teacher."

"Yes, you did. The best." Yolanda gave him a wry smile, before she chuckled heartily, "Well, c'mon then, don't just stand there. You remember how Maya gets when she doesn't eat on time."

Still, Chase was unable to move. His mentor shook her head and patted the spot on the counter next to her. It was only then he took an uncertain step forward, and then another and another, until he and Yolanda were side by side.

He grabbed the bundle of herbs – parsley, basil and chives – and then reached for the knife. Again, he was caught off guard by how heavy it felt, but this time, having a knife in his hand brought him solace.

As he stood beside his mentor for the first time in seven years, Chase couldn't help smiling too.

* * *

For a few hours, life almost seemed to return to normal.

After Yolanda and Chase finished cooking, they were joined by Maya and Colleen for breakfast. They sat down at a table in the dining room to a large spread of herb and cheese omelettes, fried bacon, pancakes, strawberries and syrup. The air felt stilted and conversation directed at him was sparse – he wasn't expecting things to change overnight – but every so often, Yolanda would catch his eye and nod.

One day at a time, one step at a time, Chase repeated to himself. So he concentrated on his food, listening to Maya and Colleen as they discussed the inn's financial status and budget, only speaking when he was spoken to. He found himself relaxing into the rhythm of it all, the hum of their voices, the scrape of cutlery against crockery. Despite everything, it was... nice.

When their plates were empty, everyone helped to clear the table.

"That was great, Grandma," Maya said as she emptied the food scraps onto the one plate, "Those omelettes were amazing! I could've eaten the whole plate."

Chase couldn't help himself: "You almost did."

Maya shot him an unamused look.

"You should be thanking Chase actually, he's the one who cooked them," Yolanda added breezily.

"Oh." Maya suddenly turned bashful and she began tracing the pattern on the tablecloth with the tip of her finger, "Well…then… thank you, Chase," She said in a small voice. Her light blue eyes lifted and she met his eyes straight on, "I never realised how much I missed your cooking."

A warm feeling stirred inside him at Maya's words. Along with a stab of guilt; for all those years, she did nothing but sing his praises, and all he did in return was brush her off.

With breakfast over and the table once again spotless, everyone went their separate ways and carried on with their regular daily routines: Maya took up her position at the front desk, Colleen disappeared into the back office and Yolanda returned to the kitchen.

Without a second thought, Chase followed Yolanda. Though she appeared to have no objections, his mentor did raise her eyebrow in question, but wasted no time putting him to work peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots. Together, they prepared for the upcoming lunch service; following another chef's lead took a little getting used to and it was strange to be in an environment so quiet, but Chase relished being back in the kitchen.

They worked non-stop until an hour before the lunchtime rush was expected to begin. Yolanda inspected the soup and stew Chase had prepared, tasting a spoonful of each – she gave a hearty nod of approval.

Since his return, he'd noticed the most change in his mentor; she no longer looked at him as a student, but as an equal. Again, a warming feeling stirred in his heart. Happiness, joy, delight – these sensation, no matter how fleeting they were, still felt so foreign to him after spending such a long time drowning under the dark haze of despair.

He tried to hold onto it as long as he could.

Out in the main dining area, the front doors swung open. The first of the lunchtime guests walked in and Maya's cheerful greeting resounded throughout the room, "Welcome to the Ocarina–"

"Where is he?!" A furious voice demanded.

Both Yolanda and Chase dropped what they were doing. Yolanda peered out through the open counter; her eyebrows furrowed and she held a hand out, preventing Chase from moving any closer.

"W-Wait a minute, Holly! Don't–!"

Chase inhaled sharply at the name and he lurched forward, pushing Yolanda's arm out of the way.

There she was.

Looking just as beautiful, just as resplendent. But so tired. So full of rage.

Holly's eyes darted wildly around the inn, as Maya tried to keep her back, tried to calm her down. But then, her gaze fell upon the kitchen and she saw him.

She stopped fighting Maya's hold. The years and years of pent up anger and hurt seemed to drain away, leaving her so helpless. So lost.

"It's true," Holly murmured, more to herself than anyone. "You're back."

Hearing her voice forced the breath out of Chase, and her name slipped out with it. "H-Holly…"

She was staring at him, straight at him, her brown eyes wide and her mouth slack, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"You… You really came back."


	5. The Past

I didn't get this chapter done as quickly as I wanted to because I kept changing my mind about it… in the end, I decided to split what I had into two chapters. Which means I definitely I won't be achieving my original goal of 6 chapters. Let's just say this story will be under 15 chapters… hopefully.

Yeah, I'll never be able to write a short story :')

* * *

**After the End**

Chase would always remember the moment he first set eyes on Holly Greene.

He'd been in Castanet for almost two years by then and had come along way since his deceiving first arrival. The kitchen ruled his life. His mornings and afternoons were dedicated to studying under Yolanda's watchful eye and his nights were spent refining his knife skills, his timing, his taste. It was difficult, mundane and routine, yet he couldn't imagine spending his time any other way.

Until that one Monday afternoon, when she stepped foot in the Ocarina Inn.

It had started innocently enough, with a brief introduction, a cup of tea and a smile. Two spoonfuls of honey and a squeeze of lemon – that was how she liked it. After placing the order, she went out to the dining area and took a seat at the table near the bay window. Yolanda had caught Chase's eye and glanced pointedly at the kettle, as if to say, "Well, get on with it then."

Chase bit back a retort – he'd gotten better at holding his tongue over the years, honest – and went on with making a new pot of herbal tea. Boil the water. Wait for the tea to steep for two minutes. Add the honey, pour the water and leave for a further two minutes. Then, add the final touch, the lemon juice. Even the steps to something so simple had been drilled into him.

The tea had been made but his job wasn't over. With Maya upstairs cleaning, Chase also had to play the part of the waiter. Trying to keep the scowl off his face, Chase carried the tea cup and saucer across the dining room.

She barely noticed when the tea cup was unceremoniously dumped in front of her. Her head was rested on her palm, her attention somewhere outside the window.

Chase had cleared his throat, "Your tea."

The smile was directed at him. "Thank you," She said gently.

Most people would've beamed in return; Chase, on the other hand, rolled his eyes.

Holly Greene, the new farmer girl from the city. The whole of Harmonica Town had been enamoured with her the very second she stepped foot on Castanet. Then again, it had been the same when he had first arrived (for a little while, anyway). The community was so small and incestuous that every time a newcomer showed up, they were treated like a celebrity.

Chase had returned to the kitchen to help Yolanda with the remaining dinnertime preparations. As he peeled and diced carrots for a lamb curry, he found himself intermittently looking out into the dining area and each time his gaze would fall on the farmer girl across the way.

At first glance, everything about Holly was a bit plain – her face, her clothes, her personality.

Except for her smile. It was too wide, showed too many teeth, was even a bit crooked. Something about all that made her that little bit more believable.

It became a habit. Watching her like this.

Not intentionally, of course, but she was always _there._ Lunchtime, dinnertime, and on the odd occasion she'd even stay until midnight having a drink with the Garmon District crowd. Every time, Chase would glance out into the dining room and his eyes would immediately look for her. He would always find her at the same table near the window, eating, chatting and laughing with Maya and Kathy and everyone else. Always with that same toothy smile.

Sometimes, she'd be looking straight back at him.

Though Holly never approached him like she did everyone else, she would shoot him a grateful grin just before she left the inn, as if saying thanks for the meal. Which was silly really, considering Yolanda did most of the cooking.

Those moments made Chase toy with the idea of starting a conversation with the farmer girl. He instantly rebuked it every time – just what would they even talk about? She obviously knew nothing about cooking and he knew nothing about growing crops and raising livestock, and he certainly wasn't going to resort to talking about the weather. So, like always, he would keep his gaze low, focusing on whatever vegetable he was chopping or whatever dish he was drying.

But then one day, Holly didn't just leave after flashing him her smile. Instead of heading for the door, she crossed the room in a steady stride and stopped at the open counter, where she slid onto one of the open bar stools. Chase felt as her gaze fell upon him, watching his every move as he went about plating up the next order of roast lamb chops and root vegetable mash. But he made sure not to look up; maybe if he ignored her long enough, she'd get the message. Not that it ever worked on Maya.

And it didn't work this time either.

"Hi Chase," The farmer girl said cheerfully, "Can I talk to you about something for a minute?"

Chase added a final sprinkling of parsley to the plate and hit the service bell. When Maya didn't materialise within five seconds, he gritted his teeth, hitting it again and again. Holly's eyes were still on him, and the scrutiny made the back of his neck turn red.

Maya finally emerged from the crowded dining room a few minutes later. "Geez, hold your horses," She huffed as she took the plate from him.

Chase bit the inside of his cheek, the only thing he could do that stopped himself from lashing out. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

Holly seized the chance, leaning forward on her elbows, "I need to learn how to cook. Do you think you could help me with that?" She asked.

The hold on his tongue was quickly weakening. He didn't have time for this nonsense.

He managed to set his jaw in a polite grimace, "I dunno. I don't think the inn would appreciate losing their best customer."

"But I'm going to go broke if I keep eating here every night. I have to learn for myself!"

Her words fell on deaf ears as he began preparing the next order. Chase had already been suckered into playing the part of teacher with Maya more times than he liked; he didn't need someone else dragging him down.

However, he never expected the farmer to be so persistent. Holly fixed him with her most charming stare – he made the mistake of looking up and it bewitched him. Made his insides twist and turn strangely. No, he wasn't going to fall for her pathetic puppy dog look. No matter how cute or pretty she looked (wait, since when did he think she was pretty?).

"I just need to know the basic stuff," Holly persisted. "You can still make me dinner time to time," She added playfully.

His retort was dry, "Only when you're paying."

This earned a pout from the farmer. Against his better judgement, Chase found himself chuckling. "Hey, I've got to make a living somehow."

"And how am I supposed to live if I have to spend all of my money just to eat?"

Chase gave a nonchalant shrug, "Not my problem."

Still, their standoff continued. Chase had to hand it to the farmer – where once he thought her to be a pushover, she could obviously stand her ground if she so wanted to.

She would never win, of course. No one could out-stubborn Chase.

Holly had thrown a quick glance at the clock – it was almost nine – and her eyebrows came together into a frown. Her defeat was brought about by an early bedtime, needed for an equally early start the next morning.

"Okay, I get the hint. I'm sorry for bothering you," Holly apologised.

Her tone had been earnest, as she pushed herself up off the counter and slipped off the stood. She made a move to leave, but only got one step away before she stopped and faced him again. "It's a shame, though… your ratatouille is the best I've ever tasted, and I just wanted learn from the best."

And that was how Chase fell for it. He felt the flush spread from his neck to his face. The one dish on the menu that Yolanda had trusted him to cook solo, and Holly had been able to tell.

He had to hand it to the farmer girl – she was good.

Too good.

With a sigh, Chase ran a hand through his hair, "…All right, fine. I guess you can't do any worse than Maya."

* * *

Their weekly lessons commenced soon after.

Chase had to admit, Holly turned out to be a good student, much better than Maya had ever been (not that that was a difficult feat to achieve, but still). Far from being a natural in the kitchen, Holly was overly cautious about everything, from knife safety to cooking times, yet she also worked hard and followed instructions well. He appreciated her determination, her tenacious attitude; it reminded him of himself and everything he'd achieved.

Within no time, Holly had a big enough recipe repertoire under her belt to feed herself for weeks and not get bored. Their lessons didn't end there, however, continuing on throughout the months. Holly would even prepare lunch for him at her house sometimes, on Sundays, his day off.

It was during these _lunch dates_ that he began to question their arrangement. Holly said she wanted to repay the favour and kindness he'd shown her over the weeks, but Chase knew the truth. Felt it.

They were friends now, weren't they?

He'd come to learn more about the farmer girl named Holly Greene. More than he cared to know. She was the second eldest of four children, the first born daughter that became lost in the shadow of her much more talented siblings. Moving to Harmonica Town was her show of independence, her chance to define herself – "Except, I should've learnt how to cook before I got here," She joked. And she loved it here, the people and the lifestyle. But still Chase could see it. The sadness. There, in her eyes, whenever she spoke about her family. It must be killing her, being this far away from them.

That was their biggest difference. Holly wasn't afraid to let so many people into her heart. Friends, family, even him – she cared for them all with an equal ferocity.

Chase was much more hesitant to offer up information, but that didn't damper Holly's spirits. It became a game for her – 'how close can I get to Chase today?' Most times, he'd play nonchalant, but every so often he allowed her a small morsel, just to tantalise her appetite: he'd grown up in the suburbs, he'd played the flute in middle school, his favourite fruit was oranges. But never anything about his family; that was off-limits to everyone.

Little by little, the invisible barrier that existed between them began to weaken. Lunch at Holly's house became the highlight of his week. He looked forward to standing beside her in her tiny kitchen – sometimes their hands accidentally touched and a strange jolt shocked his stomach. Then, there were other times when their stares lingered a moment too long, and it was like he could see a promise of something different in Holly's eyes. Just the thought of it made his blood dance.

You're imagining things, he told himself firmly. He'd never had a good record with relationships after all; women always wanted too much when he had too little to give. Not that it ever bothered him. As long as he had the chance to cook, his life felt complete enough.

He was proven wrong when one day, at the Ocarina Inn, Holly followed him into the walk-in storage cupboard. She'd looked at him, straight at him, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He pressed her into a corner and she didn't resist. Craned his head towards her and she didn't move. And then he kissed her for an eternity, until their mouths felt bruised and breathless.

Chase had been the first to relent, pulling away. They watched each other, unsure of what the other's next move would be.

"I don't do this often," Holly said, almost sheepishly.

"Yeah… me either."

She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. Although the walk-in cupboard was only dimly lit, he saw the red tinge in her cheeks. "To be honest… I've wanted to do that for a while now," She admitted.

"Yeah," Chase swallowed hard. "…M-me too," He whispered.

So it didn't stop there.

Whether they were truly 'going out' he wasn't quite sure. In the presence of everyone else, he supposed they just seemed to be good friends; he still teased her when she came by the inn, and she still shot him a warm smile from across the room, sometimes taking the moment to have an amicable chat even.

The story changed when no one was looking. They stole away behind the Ocarina Inn during his breaks, where Chase would capture her mouth with his, their hearts beating in unison with the thrill of it all. And then there were Sundays, the only night Chase had free. They'd spend it curled up within the bed sheets, lost in the sensation of each other, as if they were the only people left in the world.

He fell for her, hard, fast, but not without a fight. For all the happiness he felt when they were together, there was ugliness inside him too. It grew and grew bigger every day, until it threatened to burst and spill over into every inch of his body. He hated feeling like he was losing control.

So Chase began to play a different game. How far can I push her today?

It wasn't an easy game. Holly had an abnormally high level of tolerance for snide remarks and insults – it came with being the only doormat in a family of big personalities. But still, he wore her down, picking at anything he could, like her less than successful venture at being a farmer or her dream to be a florist some day. Most times, she'd sigh and shake her head or roll her eyes. Other times, he'd emerge the victor and his reward was seeing the corners of her mouth twitch as she despondently stared at her drink. He never let that look linger for long, though. All it took was a charming smile, or a kiss, and she would forgive him. That would be her downfall someday.

Until one night he pushed too far.

That night, Chase was working the late shift, like usual. Dinner service had come to an end and only the regular stragglers were left drinking the night away.

Holly was one of them. She sat at the bar, chatting with the newest resident of Harmonica Town – an archaeologist who looked like he'd gotten lost on the way to a movie set. Chase could hear them as he went about cleaning up the pile of dishes sitting by the sink. The archaeologist was babbling on about the Harvest Goddess and ruins and blah, blah, blah, while Holly actually seemed to be hanging on to his every word.

When their pitcher of beer had been emptied, the archaeologist retired for the night and Holly was left alone at the bar. Chase deemed it safe enough to approach.

"Finally. If I had to listen to another word of that guy's crazy talk, I would've fallen asleep," Chase grumbled to Holly, drying off a plate, "Maya and Kathy have been swooning over him ever since he got here."

"I don't blame them." The farmer watched him with mischief twinkling in her eyes, "He's very interesting, actually. And good looking."

"Don't tell me you've fallen for him too."

"I wouldn't say no," She teased.

Chase chuckled, "Yeah, I bet you wouldn't." He slammed the plate down on the counter harder than he intended to.

The humour left Holly's eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying. I'm sure all that guy has to do is say the word." He shrugged, "You gave it up to me easily enough after all."

The bar stool scraped loudly against the wooden floorboards, as Holly shot to her feet.

"S-Sometimes I really regret doing that." She'd tried to be strong, but her trembling lip said otherwise.

"What are you getting so bent out of shape for?" He asked in a bored drawl. "We're having fun, aren't we?"

"No, Chase, we are not having fun."

It was the crack in his name that made him look up; he saw her narrowed eyes, brimming with furious tears that she refused to let fall.

"We stopped having fun the moment you first implied that I let my family down by moving here. And that I was stupid for wanting to be a florist. And that you think I'd sleep around with any guy–"A tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly swiped it away, "–when I only want to be with you."

"Holly…" Chase uttered feebly. If there was anything that could put a stop to his games, it was seeing her like this. "I… I didn't mean…"

But Holly wasn't listening.

In a move that mirrored the day they first connected, Holly went to leave, before she reconsidered and turned on heel. She leaned forward, her hands fisted around the edge of the bar counter.

"I need you to know something, Chase," She said quietly, "I used to think that we could have something more – a real relationship – because I've seen how caring and loving you can be. But you go back to being an asshole every time and it's like that side of you never existed. Why did I keep bothering?"

He'd watched her stalk out of the Ocarina Inn, unable to move from his spot behind the bar counter no matter how much his brain screamed at him to follow.

After all, this was what he wanted. Wasn't it? Without Holly, he'd be free of this ugly feeling inside him, free to be himself once again.

Except then the ugly feeling still spilled over into his whole body, poisoning his blood and lashing at his heart, until all he wanted to do was spit and swear and scream and fight.

He'd made a mistake; Holly didn't cause the feeling.

Holly was keeping it at bay.

_I have to get her back._

After a night spent tossing and turning, Chase had turned up to her house with a freshly baked orange cake in hand – a peace offering. It was six o'clock in the morning, too early for most people, but Holly was already hard at work tending to her farm.

At the sound of his approaching footsteps, Holly paused and looked up from watering her crops. Her eyes met his, still filled with hurt, anger and now weariness.

She sighed.

At least, she didn't tell him to get lost.

They ended up inside the house, sitting on opposite ends of the tattered couch in the living room with a cup of tea and a slice of cake each placed on the coffee table in front of them. No one was hungry, though, nor were they willing to speak. They were suffocating slowly under the weight of their problems – they had been for a long time now.

"I didn't mean the things I said last night," Chase blurted out, before the chance eluded him, "I didn't mean any of the things I said. Ever."

"Then why did you say them?" Her tone was cold. It didn't suit her, such bitterness.

Chase fell silent. He had no answer to give. No answer that she would understand, anyway.

"You know what, Chase?" She continued. Although Holly sat right beside him, she sounded so faraway, her eyes focused on a spot on the other side of the room, "I'm getting tired of all this."

"…Of me?" He asked in a small voice.

Again, she exhaled, sounding just as exhausted as she appeared. "Of the games we have to play to be together. I'm not even sure you even _want_ to be with me."

"How can you say that?"

They both heard the accusation in the words. Holly finally glanced his way. Her smile was sad.

"Because you always look at me like that. Like you're offended by my presence."

_Because I hate the way you make me feel._

"Well… I'm not. I'm just… confused," Chase mumbled.

He tried to hold her gaze, but couldn't. He hated that about her. The way she could take one glance at him and see through all the sadness and the anger he had walled around his heart.

"What do you mean?" She asked gently.

Chase's eyes roamed the room, searching for something that would give him the strength to tell her every thought that milled about his head. But they were tangled up like a ball of string, the end of which he would never find and unravel.

"It's like this," He finally began, "I've always known what I've wanted to do. Cook. I don't care where I am, or whether I'm the head chef or a lowly line cook. As long as I get to be in a kitchen, it's like I know who I am."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Holly reached out; her hand found his and there it was.

The strength he needed to go on.

"When I'm with you, on the other hand… I don't… I don't know who I am anymore."

_And that scares me more than anything._

Holly was frowning. "I'm not sure what to make of that."

"Look, Holly… what I mean is…" He folded his arms across his chest, as he turned away and closed his eyes. "You make me want to be… something more."

He felt a hand gently caress his cheek and he didn't fight when she pulled him towards her.

"I want to be with you, Chase, I really do," Holly whispered. Her tears were wet against his skin. It made him want to cry too. "But the games need to stop, okay?"

You don't deserve me, he wanted to say.

But he didn't say it. Instead, Chase gave into his selfish whims and held her tighter, inhaling her scent of fresh hay and flowers. He loved that about her. That she made him feel like nothing bad could ever happen to him, as long as he was with her.

Chase was powerless against her; he always had been, from the moment they first met. However, as he folded Holly into his arms and whispered words of promise into her ears, he realised that maybe she was powerless against him too.

* * *

They still had their good days, and their bad.

On their good days, Chase would find Holly sitting outside the Inn, waiting for his shift to end. The hour was always too late for her – she still awoke at six – so she would be dozing off with her head rested against the wall. He'd wake her with a tender kiss, and then they'd walk home, barely able to keep their hands off each other.

On their bad days, he would make the long walk to her farm in the middle of the night, alone. He'd stand on her cold front doorstep and bang at her door until she answered. "Go home, Chase," She'd always say before slamming the door in his face. But he never did. Eventually, reluctantly, she would come back and let him inside.

The former outweighed the latter after almost two years together (especially now that Chase had practically moved in with Holly; he'd always argue back with, "I _am_ home.") Their lives hadn't changed much, really. Chase continued to work long hours at the Ocarina Inn, and Holly was busy with her farm. There were some occasions where they barely crossed each other's paths during the day, only seeing each other at night. In spite of their mutual exhaustion, they fell into bed, into each other, never letting go until the morning light separated them again.

Many of those nights, Chase would lay awake long after Holly had fallen asleep.

"I love you, Holly," He whispered. It was the only time he let himself say the words aloud, because the darkness gave him the strength to.

Holly never heard the declaration, most time. Then there were the other times when she'd stir beside him and turn over to face him. "I love you too, Chase," She murmured. The words were often swallowed by a yawn, but it made his heart swell all the same.

In those moments, he allowed himself to imagine what his life could be like beyond the kitchen. The Chase of the future had a warm house with lots of room, a place to call home. He had someone to spend the rest of his life with. He even had a few kids.

A family. He liked the sound of that.

Later that year, in winter, his vision took one step closer to becoming reality.

He'd been considering it for a long time now, but between work and spending his every day off with Holly, he'd had little opportunity to do anything about it.

The perfect chance arose when Holly ended up bedridden with what appeared to be the flu. Though she insisted she was fine, Chase offered to go into town to buy her some medicine. He kissed her goodbye and was out the door before she could protest.

On the way to Harmonica Town, he took a detour to the Garmon Mine District. When no one was looking, he snuck into the jewellery store and asked Mira to show him her selection of engagement rings. He had the perfect one picked out: a princess cut diamond set in the centre of a simple silver band. It would cost him two months worth of pay, but there was no better way to spend his money.

Because that was the thing about Holly Greene. She lifted the weight off his chest – the anger, the guilt, the sorrow – and let him breathe properly for the first time in years.

He wanted to keep breathing for the rest of his life.


	6. The Present

For the millionth time, I'm sorry for not updating. This year is my final year at uni so I'm very busy with homework and making preparations for my major project. Thank you to everyone for being patient; I'll try updating this and Who Am I to Say (I'm working on the next chapter don't worry) whenever I can.

I hope you like this chapter :)

* * *

**After the End**

"I-It's really you… Chase…"

Over the years, her voice had been an anchor. Countless times it had pulled him from the depths of the darkness in his heart, from the bad thoughts that sometimes threatened to consume him. The way she said his name, tenderly, coaxingly, full of warmth – it gave him something to hold onto.

It was that sound that yanked Chase out of the past and back into the present. For a minute, he was lost in the haze of his memories; he'd never really realised how important the Ocarina Inn had been to him over the years. Here, he had found his place in the world, a second family, and the woman he would love more than life itself.

And here, right at this moment, he ran the risk of losing it all for good.

This was not how he imagined meeting Holly Greene again. Of course, he never expected it to be a happy occasion, but he didn't think it would happen in the open like this, surrounded by Maya, Yolanda and Colleen, their stunned spectators. And he always thought he'd have more time to prepare. What he'd do, what he'd say, not that it would matter. In the end, there was nothing he could say or do to stop her from looking at him like that.

From hating him.

And he deserved it all. The tearful glare, the clenched jaw, the fists balled at her sides, wanting to strike out – he deserved anything and everything Holly had to give.

Exhaling softly, Chase closed his eyes and waited. Bitter words, screaming, a slap across the face; he was ready for it.

When nothing came, he was surprised. He lifted his head and dared to meet her gaze straight on.

Holly stared back at him from across the room. At only him. Anger rolled off her stance in waves, though her expression betrayed her aggression, twisted with sorrow and unfallen tears. In that regard, she hadn't changed. Holly was never good at anger – regardless of who started the argument, it inevitably ended with her crying. He could see it on her face, her determination to prove him wrong, to show him that she was no longer that person.

But then, a tear slipped down her cheek. Her battle had been lost.

Holly inhaled sharply – a half-choked sob – and her hands flew to her face. She stayed like that, her breath frozen in her chest as she tried to get a hold of her grief. But it did no good. A shudder passed through her body and began a chain reaction, her shoulders shaking with the force of her silent suffering.

All because of him.

Forgetting the situation, Maya snapped out of her stupor and rushed over to her friend. This sent Holly into a flurry; she began to inch backwards towards the entrance, shaking her head and muttering incoherent apologies. Maya tried to talk her down, but Holly was already halfway out the door. One last time, she glanced back and found Chase's gaze from over Maya's shoulder. Held it there.

The next second, Holly was gone.

Chase stood rooted to the spot, his heart hammering in his chest. Of all the ways she could've reacted, he was least prepared for her crying.

One by one, he felt the intense stares of Maya, Yolanda and Colleen settle upon him. Waiting to see what he'd do next. Although they made no sound, he was blasted by their thoughts, a single word so powerful that it felt as if it was being scorched into his skin: _coward._

He'd been in this position before. Watching helplessly as Holly marched out of the Ocarina Inn, out of his reach, out of his life. Yet he never tried to stop her. Every time, he let her walk away.

Chase took a step forward. Then another, another, another, breaking into a run.

He wouldn't leave things like this. Not this time.

"Holly!"

With her name still on his lips, Chase burst out onto the street. His eyes frantically swept over the area; she had to be around here somewhere, she couldn't have gotten far – there she was, just a few feet away. Holly had stopped, just off to the side, her face once again hidden behind her hands, her sorrow pouring out through her fingers. The sight awakened the coward within him and he almost turned back – he broke her; he'd broken the woman he claimed to love so much – but he quashed the urge, forcing himself to confront the past.

"Holly…" Chase breathed. He'd forgotten how much it could calm him, saying her name like that.

Her head snapped up and her red-rimmed eyes widened with shock. But she didn't try to escape, didn't even move as Chase approached her. Only a few feet separated them, yet it felt like another seven years passed with every step he took. And then in a blink of an eye, it was over and there she was. So close, he could smell her scent of flowers and hay.

Holly's mouth began to move, but her voice remained trapped in her throat. Emotions passed over her face: anger, sadness, and a flicker of something else. Love? No, it couldn't be.

Their entire relationship, Holly had been the driving force behind everything. She had been the one to make the first move, the one to start conversations and organise dates. Even on the days when the darkness inside him won over and Chase recoiled into himself, she had been patient, had always waited for him to come back to her.

This time, Chase knew it was his turn. He had to be the one to speak first.

"Holly… I'm sorry."

Those two simple words filled the space around them, slowing down time.

Just like that, the switch was flipped. Holly's eyes shone bright with rage and she flew forward.

"How dare you! How dare you!" Holly screamed. Her fist hit his chest over and over, knocking the breath from him, "How _dare_ you go near my daughter after everything you put us through?!"

Chase winced through each blow. "I never… meant for Rosemary to see me. Not like that," He uttered weakly. Even though yesterday you dared to stand only metres away from her house, hoping for a glimpse of her, of both of them. "I… I only just got back."

"Why did you come back?! Why now, of all time?"

"B… because… I…"

_I needed to see you and I wanted to see you and I missed you so much and it killed me inside and all I wanted was a moment of peace so I took the knife and I pressed it against my skin and for the first time I thought I could be free but it didn't happen and now I'm here and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry._

"…I don't know."

"You don't know. What's that supposed to mean? You don't know…" Holly repeated with a hollow laugh. She paced back and forth, her hands kneading at her temples. Her footfalls stopped in front of him and she faced him, her red raw eyes burning holes into his soul. "God, what did you think would happen? That I'd welcome you home with open arms after you abandoned us? That I'd forgive you and let you be Rosie's father again?"

The brunt of her stare was too much. Chase averted his gaze, wrapping his arms around his middle. Of course, he never expected their reunion to be a happy one – but part of him wanted it to be. Like in the movies, where the hero and the heroine would spot each other from across the way, and immediately run to each other with their arms wide open. So stupid, yet he had been dumb enough to think it was a possibility.

Another broken sob cut the air and Chase's head shot up. Holly was hunched over under the weight of her anguish, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She glanced at him through her tears, piercing his heart, "Why did you do this to us, Chase?"

It was instinct. Chase reached out to her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to his chest. She went rigid under his touch, her breath hitching in her throat, before he gradually felt her relax. In that moment, it seemed that time had been rewound and they were transported back to the past, when this – holding her – was okay. As her grief and hatred seeped into the fabric of his shirt, he wished he could somehow absorb it all, take it all away.

However, time soon caught up to them and Holly came to her senses. Her anger returning, she pushed him away, putting as much distance between them as possible.

They found themselves in a standoff, watching and waiting to see what the other would do.

The flash of emotions passed over Holly's face again.

"I've never… I've never asked you for anything, Chase, but I need to now." Her lip trembled and a few more tears trickled down her cheeks; she quickly wiped them away. Inhaling shakily, she closed her eyes – she was searching inside herself for the strength she needed to finish her sentence.

When Holly looked his way again, he knew she had found it.

"I need you to stay away. From me and from Rosemary. Please… just stay away from us."

* * *

Chase couldn't remember how long he remained standing outside the Ocarina Inn after Holly left. Nor could he remember turning around and going back inside. Climbing the stairs, walking down the hall to his room and laying down on his bed – it was all a blur.

He didn't move from that spot on his bed for a very long time. Hours. Days. At least a week, or maybe even more. It became his tomb, as he gave into his misery and let the darkness overtake him, hoping for the end to come.

But then, his gloom was punctuated by a knock at the door. Just a few at first, but as the time went on the knocks grew louder and more frequent. When he didn't answer, they took a key and muscled their way inside. If Chase had the energy, he would've protested, but he had nothing, no family, no friends, no reason to live, so he curled his legs to his chest and willed himself to go to sleep and never wake up again. He longed to have more pills, the ones that numbed his mind and body. He'd take one after the other, until he stopped being able to feel. Until he stopped breathing.

Except, they kept coming back. They kept him alive. The routine of the inn dictated his life once more.

Before beginning the lunch preparations, Yolanda brought food. She coaxed him into a sitting position and practically spoon-fed him, until he grew tired of being treated like a baby and he took the plate from her. Sometimes, she would ask him questions about the flavour – "Should I have used more tarragon? What do you think of the texture? I think it could do with more ginger," – but he was unable to bring himself to care. Everything tasted the same. Cooking didn't matter. It never had; his career as a chef, his job at the restaurant, it had all been a pathetic attempt to distract himself from his pitiful life.

Colleen came to see him in the hours between lunch and dinner service. Her visits began with smiles and small talk, but she soon withdrew into herself as her memories turned to her late husband. When she spoke of Jake, her voice grew distant and tears welled up in her eyes. Half of the time, it was as if he wasn't even in the room with her. It was a pain Chase knew all too well, an affinity they shared. So even though he never responded, he listened, taking every word to heart.

And then there was Maya who showed up once the bar closed and the patrons went home. She fussed about the room, forever cleaning something, and she was the one who convinced him to take a shower and change his clothes. After he was back in bed, lying on the fresh sheets, she would take his wrists and redress his wounds. The first time, Maya had silently cried as she unwrapped the bandages, had traced the still healing scar with the tip of her fingers. Her touch was so gentle, it made him hate himself even more. She had been so kind to him when they were younger; a school girl with a crush who would do anything to impress him. And he had been such an asshole.

Why can't you see I'm no good? He wanted to ask.

He tried doing the right thing seven years ago with Holly and Rosemary and he failed then. He tried doing the right thing by coming back to make amends and yet again he had ruined his chances. There had been no change. He hadn't changed. For the rest of his life, he would do nothing but hurt the people he loved.

The thought haunted his every waking moment and even his dreams. _I am no good. Not for Holly, not for Rosemary, not for anyone. _Around and round, like a song on repeat.

One day – which day it was, he didn't know – his mind suddenly fell silent. He knew what he had to do. Fuelled by the decision, Chase managed to push himself up into a seated position. He slid out of bed and stood; immediately, his feet almost gave way beneath him, too weak from laying dormant for too long.

On unsteady legs, he limped over to the closet. He found his suitcase stashed away under the bare coat hangers, which he retrieved and began to repack – Maya had placed his clothes in the drawers, everything folded away neat and tidily, like she was expecting him to stay. Even though he'd lost his ability to differentiate between night and day, he knew he had a few hours before Maya paid her nightly visit. He'd pack his things, wait for the Inn to fall asleep and then he'd slip away into the night, with no intention to ever return.

His plan unravelled when the door swung open. Caught red-handed with his half packed suitcase on the bed, Chase froze in the middle of folding another shirt. Maya stood in the doorway, her light blue eyes widening in shock. She was early - a glance at the clock told him he was wrong; it was past ten, dinner service was long over. His brow furrowed. Had time abandoned him too?

"You're out of bed," Maya observed, moving cautiously into the room. He felt her eyes rake him up and down, "…What are you doing?"

Chase clenched his fingers around the shirt in his hands. "I can't stay here," He murmured.

"Well, you're not going to leave," She stated matter-of-factly, "You're not… you're not well enough."

He wanted to face her, stand up to her and argue. But his gaze would only go as far as the wall behind her.

"You said it yourself, Maya. It's been too long."

"I know what I said." Maya frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "But I didn't mean it like that… exactly."

"She… she told me to stay away from her. From Rosemary," Chase found himself saying. The words were heavy in his mouth, "She hates me."

The crease on her forehead deepened. "That's not… I don't think Holly hates you."

His vision was blurring. He slumped down onto the mattress, clutching the shirt so tightly that he almost ripped it in two. "You saw the way she looked at me," He choked out.

There was another sigh, and he heard as Maya sidled around the bed and dropped into the spot next to him. "You have to understand, Chase. You disappeared in the middle of the night without any warning. For seven years, none of us knew what had happened to you and you never made any attempt to keep in contact with us. It's only natural that Holly is angry with you."

"Grandma is angry with you. _I'm_ angry at you." He flinched at the brutal honesty in her tone. But then, one of Maya's hands found his, and he clung to it like a life preserver. Her words were soft in his ear. "The thing is though, at the same time, we missed you. And I know Holly did as well."

I missed you too, he wanted to say. I missed you all. I still miss you. If he spoke however, he didn't know what would happen, so he bit his tongue, swallowing back his emotions.

Maya gave his hand a gentle squeeze, "Holly has seven years worth of anger and sadness to work through, so give her some time, okay? She'll come to you when she's ready. It'll be good for both of you."

Chase closed his eyes. They'd had plenty of time already, seven long years worth. If Holly wasn't prepared to forgive him after all that, would she ever be? He was unable to imagine ever forgiving himself. There was no way he could expect the same from Holly.

"I… I have to leave," He whispered weakly.

"I can't let you." Before he could protest, Maya's hold moved from his arm to his wrist. "Because if I do… I'm afraid we won't ever see you again."

Chase's head fell forward into his hands. He forced himself to inhaled, exhale, inhale, exhale. Just stay alive.

Ever practical, Maya removed his suitcase from the bed and began to return his clothes to the dresser drawers.

* * *

A week later, Chase was still alive. Still confined to his bed, trapped under the weight of his despair, but still breathing nonetheless.

Each day bled into the next, into the next, into the next. The only thing keeping him going was the kindness of the innkeeper family, and even they must've been weary of his static existence. But as always, their generosity was their downfall. They never pushed him, they never complained, they just let him be.

Most of the time, he just slept. He hated it though, because he couldn't control his dreams. Each time, he woke up with a part of the past lingering on him – Holly's scent in his nostrils, the feel of her kiss on his lips, the warmth of Rosemary's tiny body in his arms – and it grew increasingly difficult to differentiate between reality and the dream world.

Being awake was not much better. For hours, he would stare at the ceiling, replaying Holly's last words to him over and over in his mind. _Stay away, stay away, stay away. _How could Maya trivialise what happened seven years ago by suggesting all they needed was more time? Holly hated him. Rosemary hated him. He hated himself. And he hated thinking about all this, so he closed his eyes and forced himself to return to the dream world.

Morning would come, the day would pass by, night would fall, and the cycle continued.

And then one night, Chase saw her. Holly's ghost standing at the foot of his bed, watching over him.

He instantly dismissed it as a dream. This was his punishment, another reminder that he was a coward. Too much of a coward to stand up to a ghost; how was he supposed to face the real Holly?

This ghost almost seemed solid – so much so, he even heard her footsteps drag along the carpet flooring as she moved nearer. When he chanced a look at her, he saw her mouth moving, but no voice came out. Holly ventured passed the foot of the bed, made it halfway and kept walking, until she was so close he could reach out and touch her. She found a spot on the bed close to his middle. The mattress sagged under the weight of her as she sat down, and for a second it didn't seem like just a figment of his subconscious.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Her eyes were on him, every part of him, lingering on his wrist. Eventually her gaze settled on his face. Silence pulsed around them, broken only by the rhythm of their breathing. The distance between them was more than just physical.

Holly's breath suddenly hitched, stuttered, before dissolving into breathy sobs.

"Oh, Chase… why did you do this to yourself?" Holly asked.

The question he'd wanted to hear for so long. He would've laughed at the irony, but he had little energy for humour these days. Once again, he closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to swallow him. His mind was just playing tricks on him. The real Holly wouldn't care.

When he reopened his eyes a moment later, she was still there. Sadness glistened on her features in the moonlight; how he wanted to reach over and wipe away her tears, but his arm felt cemented in place. Out of everyone, Holly deserved to hear an explanation the most – even if she was nothing more than an apparition thought up by his guilty conscience.

"I made a mistake," He whispered.

Holly's lips parted in a silent gasp. She remained quiet though, letting him speak.

The words kept pouring out. "I-I couldn't stop thinking about how much I'd screwed up everything… I was tired… I felt so tired, Holly. I just… w-wanted it all to end."

His vision was clouding over. An ache echoed through his body, so deep he thought he might die.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you. I'm so sorry." He repeated the words over and over, until they choked him and he began to weep. For everything that he'd lost and for everything he would never have. Then Holly reached out, her hand gently caressing the side of his face. Her skin still felt so warm, so soft even after years of farming, he almost thought she was real. He wished she was real.

"I know you are, Chase," She said quietly, "These last seven years… haven't been easy on either of us."

"Because of me. Because _I_ left you to look after our baby daughter, all by yourself."

Her hand left his cheek and she sat back. "But you're here now. That has to account for something… right?" Holly murmured. Chase watched the way confusion creased her brow; the question wasn't directed at him, it sounded like she was just trying to voice her thoughts.

A sigh suddenly sunk her shoulders, "This isn't how I pictured it."

"What isn't?"

"You finally coming back…" Her focus lowered to her hands, which were nervously knotted together in her lap, "I spent so much time thinking about what I'd do and say to you, and I've done none of it."

"What would you have done differently?" He asked.

Holly glanced at him with a sad smile, "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Against his better judgement, he nodded. He could take anything she had to give, because he deserved it. Every word, every blow.

After a long bout of silence, Holly began to speak.

"…I would've been stronger. I wouldn't have cried. I would've looked you straight in the eye and told you… that I was glad you left. Rosemary and I didn't need you, we never did." Holly looked off to the side, "I would've said that I hated you."

Chase bit his lip until he tasted blood. He knew he had no right to be hurt, but he couldn't stop the tears from falling.

"But… that would have been a lie."

It took everything in him for Chase to keep his mouth from dropping open. "You don't… hate me?"

"Oh Chase…" The smile Holly gave him was so sad and so full of love, he wanted to tear his heart from his chest just to stop it from hurting. "How can I possibly hate you, when you helped give me the best thing in my life?" Her lip trembled and a degree of gentleness left her expression, "But you also have to understand… I don't know if I can ever properly forgive you. Too much has happened. Too much I can't just forget."

Chase swallowed thickly, "I know. I know… and I don't expect you do. But…" He allowed their gazes to meet and he hoped she could see the sincerity in his eyes, "I-I want to try to make things right. I'll do anything to make everything right again."

Holly seemed to consider this for a moment. "Then can I ask you to do one thing for me?"

"Anything," He repeated, with as much determination as he could muster.

Despite her controlled composure, she seemed to hesitate briefly. Then, slowly, Holly leaned forward, until her lips were level with his. She was so close he could feel her hot breath on his skin; an urge arose within him and he wanted to turn his head, to pull her to him and capture her mouth and never let go.

Her whispers caressed his ear.

And then Chase woke up.


End file.
